


taste so good (make a grown man cry)

by bottomlinsons (grimgrace)



Series: Lesbian!Alphas [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A/B/O verse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dubious Consent, F/F, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-con Elements, and all the consent issues that come with this verse, cis!girl Harry, cis!girl Louis, cis!girl Zayn, everyone's still a cis!girl, except for niall and liam, girl!direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimgrace/pseuds/bottomlinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, Harry and Louis' ruts sync up and everything kind of goes to shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	taste so good (make a grown man cry)

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: There are some very significant consent issues present in this fic that aren’t fully fleshed out. Please read all the tags very carefully – and if you’re even slightly triggered by dubious consent or elements of non-consent this might be a fic to avoid.
> 
> absolutely stunning fanart is by [esther](http://wickedalbion.tumblr.com) \- she is amazing and her commissions are now open!!

**.**

**_t-minus two weeks._ **

**.**

This doctor is an arse.

Which, to be perfectly frank, just makes him the last in a long, long line of arse-doctors that Harry and Louis have encountered today.  

“Look,” Harry says – because she’s got infinitely more patience for this kind of shit. “I understand what you’re saying, I do.” She leans forward and gives him her sweetest smile – a sickly, saccharine thing. It’s the kind of smile that would have made Louis’ flick her in the nose and ask if she was ill. “But you don’t seem to understand what we’re asking—”

The doctor, a portly chap with a patchy beard and thick-rimmed glasses, bristles.

“—sir,” Harry tacks on, like that will somehow appease him.

He relaxes a little.

Louis rolls her eyes.

This man’s office is the kind of pretentious that would have Louis’ laughing out loud under different circumstances. His curtains probably cost more than her whole flat, huge, red velvet monstrosities that hang from the roof to the floor. They’re pulled apart now, to show off a fairly pedestrian view of the city, by large golden ropes – the gold paint flaking where the curtain fabric has rubbed. His chairs are made of an incredibly uncomfortable leather substitute that, in the unseasonable hot weather, has Louis’ thighs sticking and squeaking every time she tries to move.

But she’s given up trying to make fun of this man. Actually, she’s given up everything. It’s already abundantly clear what kind of help this doctor is going to offer.

But Harry, who’s perched on her own chair far more elegantly than Louis, has always been persistent.

“We’ve spoken to several doctors in the last few days, sir,” she continues. “And they’ve been perfectly clear regarding the official rules when it comes to situations like ours – but I’m afraid no one’s been willing to help us beyond that.” She reaches back to take Louis’ hand (who’s thighs squelch again when she reaches forward to show solidarity), before smiling back at the doctor. “Is there really nothing you can do to help us?”

She leans forward a little, her breasts peeking out from her low-cut t-shirt. Louis’ grip on her hand tightens and she can’t quite help the quiet growl that rumbles in her throat. Harry squeezes Louis’ hand right back – and it would be a sweet gesture, if Louis didn’t already know that it was just Harry’s way of telling her to _shut the fuck up_ and _behave_.

The doctor’s eyes flick from Harry’s cleavage to her face, and then back to her cleavage again. Then he sighs, sounding put-upon.

“Alright,” he says. “I suppose we can go over it once more, and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Sanctimonious prick, Louis thinks.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Harry gushes.

She squeezes Louis’ hand again, a clear instruction for Louis to act just as grateful - but Louis’ a bit too furious about his blatant staring to do anything more than grind her teeth.

He doesn’t appear to mind, or even notice the snub. “Well,” he says with a smug smile, “helping people is what I’m here for, you know.”

Harry’s smile pulls at the edges, just for a second baring the grimace she’s been hiding. The doctor doesn’t notice that either – but, then, he’s not really looking at her face.

“And we’re very grateful,” Harry says after a beat. Years of working the in the service industry ensured that Harry was incredibly good at bullshitting people. “The other doctors we’ve seen haven’t been nearly as willing to help.”

Maybe it’s the reminder that he’s actually got a fucking job to do that spurs the man into action. “Right,” he says. “And how many other doctors have you seen?”

Four today, Louis thinks. And two yesterday. All with the same fucking answer.

“Two,” Harry says. _It’s important not to look desperate_ , she’d said before they’d come in. Which was a bit of a joke, in Louis’ opinion – because that’s exactly what they were; desperate.

They’d been together for six months, so far. Their (fairly r-rated) meet cute had developed quickly into something more serious. They’d met each other’s friends, and then each other’s families, and then they’d said goodbye to their separate flats and found a larger, nicer flat to house them both. It was all very mature, and very serious – because, if Louis was honest, she was serious about Harry. And Harry seemed to be serious about her.

Which, unfortunately, posed quite a few problems.

Alpha pairs weren’t unheard of by any means – but they were unusual. Genders, the history books said, stemmed from a biological instinct to find the perfect mate; alphas for betas, betas for betas, alphas for omegas, blah, blah, blah. They were, essentially, evolution’s way of helping them out – because humans clearly couldn’t be left to their own devices to chose a life partner. Clearly, evolution still had a few kinks to work out.

Alpha males and alpha females would fight tooth and nail, over almost anything, which more than often led to rather violent hate-fucking. Omegas felt safe with other omegas, and often decided to not bother with finding an alpha at all and instead paired off together. There wasn’t really a problem with it, either – save for the nut-jobs who said it was a violation of God, or whatever - but it did lead to some fairly significant biological issues.

Omegas couldn’t look after omegas during heats, after all. They were biologically designed for it, and the toys on the market could only help so much. Usually, couples in that situation would find a willing alpha to take care of them for that week before returning to mated bliss. Unusual, but functional.

With alphas, however, things got a little more violent.

Harry reaches into her bag with her free hand and pulls out the calendar she’s been carrying around all day. “We’ve been following the signs, you see,” she says, “and when you look at the pattern of our menstrual cycles it’s fairly easy to see that our bodies have started to sync up.”

The doctor is apparently professional enough to pull his eyes away from Harry’s boobs long enough to look at the calendar. “I see,” he says as he considers it. “And your concern is—?”

This man is clearly an imbecile, and Louis’ patience is running thin.

“Our ruts,” she interrupts – the first thing she’s said since sitting down in his sweaty, squeaky office chair. “ _Obviou_ —”

Harry takes control of the sentence at this point, talking loudly and drowning out what Louis had been going to say. “— _Obviously_ we’re just a little worried how to handle it, since this is the first time we’ll have synced up.”

Ruts had been, before Harry, an incredibly positive part of Louis’ life. She’d loved the lead up – the tense, tightening in her muscles, the hot swirl of anticipation that curled in her gut as her body prepared itself. She even loved the weeks afterward, the ache in every part of her that only spoke of the great sex she’d been having almost constantly in the days before. But god, _god_ , she loved the rut itself. Letting go and losing control to her instincts was a great feeling in and of itself - only made better by the constant sex-having. And it was good sex, _such good sex_. Back breaking, muscle pulling, (and one particularly good year, concussion inducing) sex.

The only annoying part had been finding the right partner. The eight months between ruts was always enough time to find someone compatible – but it was bloody stressful sifting through all the wrong people on the hunt for the right one.

And now she finallyhas the right girl, all wonderful and gorgeous and _hers_ , and there’ a chance that they’ll kill each other before any of the good stuff can start.

“I see,” the doctor says. He peers at the calendar again. “And neither of you have compatible alternatives?”

Louis scoffs. That’s what she gets for expecting him to be any different, she thinks. Harry is a little less overt with her disappointment, but does hold Louis’ hand a little tighter.

“That’s the problem, sir,” she says. “We were hoping to – uhm, see it through without the, uh, alternatives.” 

The doctor looks up, startled – and Louis’ surprised to see him meet their eye. He’s stares at them for a second, frowning. “I _see_ ,” he says, and this time it’s much more significant. Then, like a twat, he stays silent.

Harry clears her throat. “Basically, sir,” she starts – sounding more nervous than she has all afternoon. “We’re trying to see if there’s any advice you could give us – that would help us, you know—”

“—not kill each other?” the doctor offers.

Harry flushes – rather prettily, if Louis has a say about it – and nods. “Uh, yes.”

Delicately, the doctor hands Harry back her calendar. Harry takes it and quietly slips it back into her bag. Once she’s finished, and all her attention is on him once more, he leans forward and considers them both.

“I’m afraid there’s not much I can do,” he finally says. “The standard move at this point would be to find a person each who will fulfil your biological needs – and spend your rut with them.”

Harry nods. “We understand that, sir,” she says. “We just—”

He keeps talking anyway, because apparently Harry’s not good for anything except her fucking breasts. “What you need to understand,” he says over her, “is that this is no longer a matter of choice. Biologically, your bodies need a kind of stimulation that unfortunately, you cannot offer each other.”

“Okay, but—”

“No, please let me explain,” he continues – and if he interrupts Harry one more time, Louis is actually going to rip his tongue out. “You are both alphas. Rutting is a reaction that comes about as a result of the instinct to dominate and posses. This would be acceptable if one of you were an omega, or even a beta – but when two alphas come together it becomes a fight for dominance. And without your higher instincts in place to prevent the situation from escalating, it will become dangerous very quickly.”

Oh good. So he’d read the same Wikipedia article all the other doctors had read – the one she and Harry had gone over before they’d seen anyone at all.

“ _We know that_ ,” Harry says, some of her frustration finally leaking through. She reigns it back in quickly though. “With all due respect, sir, we’re asking for something to help with those instincts. A pheromone blocker or something.”

The doctor shakes his head. “Any kind of hormone medication will cause problems with your rut itself – which often leads to an _increase_ in aggression, not a decrease.”

“But—”

“Look. To be blunt, your best option at this point is to go out and find people willing to spend the time with you. You’ve got two weeks, you’re both pretty girls. I’m sure it won’t be difficult.”

Then he winks at Harry.

The mother _fucking_ twat fucking _winks_ at Harry.

“—Okay, that is fucking _enough_.” Louis’ on her feet before she’s even finished speaking, an alpha snarl hot on her lips. The doctor leans back in his chair, alarmed. Whether Louis’ words are the cause, or the thick, heavy command in her voice, she doesn’t care. She just wants to fucking show this guy who’s boss, and then get Harry the fuck out of there.

She’s thwarted when Harry doesn’t let go of her hand though.

“Babe,” Harry tuts.

“Don’t fucking ‘babe’ me,” Louis snaps.

Harry tugs gently on Louis’ hand. “Thank you for your time,” she says quietly to the doctor – because of course she fucking does.

Louis’ goes easily under Harry’s direction, but that doesn’t mean she’s not pissed.

“Don’t fucking thank him, Harry, this stupid fucker didn’t do anything more than stare at your—”  

Harry tugs her from the room and shuts the door behind them, leaving the doctor spluttering indignantly in their wake. Louis finds herself no less mad, even in the silence of the waiting room.

“Ugh,” Harry’s saying “What a fucking creep.”

Louis’ launches, pushing her way into Harry’s space and pressing her scent against Harry’s neck. “Come on,” she says. “I wanna fuck you in the bathroom, want him to fucking hear it.”

Harry pulls away. “Ew, really?” she says.

Louis bites at Harry’s neck, just hard enough to make Harry gasp. “Fucker had his eyes all over you,” she snarls into Harry’s skin. “You’re _mine_ — and I want the whole world to fucking hear it.”

Harry hums happily at that. “Oh, that’s okay then.”

Behind them, a fairly horrified secretary clears her throat. There’s another man sitting in the waiting room, this one a young teenager. Beta, the air tells Louis. But he’s watching with just a little too much excitement – and hand to god, Louis nearly launches herself at him.

Harry catches her with a playful grip on her wrist. “Come on,” she murmurs into Louis’ ear – calming her down. “Take me home.”

**.**

**_t-minus one week_ **

**.**

Niall buys Zayn an Iron Man pinball machine for her birthday – essentially confirming that they’ll spend the next six months having lively and enthusiastic sex, but also providing for the others an excellent excuse for a party. A dinner party, that is. It’s a bit weird, figuring out how to make the change from uni-style blowouts to posh, quiet dinner parties – but they’re managing.

Kind of.

“Should we have brought wine?” Harry says when they arrive. She looks fucking stunning tonight – wearing one of her stupidly bright, stupidly tight dresses and heels that could probably kill a man. She’s like a metre taller than Louis in them but Louis doesn’t have it in her to give a shit – they make her legs go for fucking _miles_. Louis can’t help but stare – even as Harry peers through the hazy glass of Zayn’s front door at what looks like a rather posh event. “Shit, I think we should have brought wine.”

Louis looks down at the dark bottle of Baileys in her hand and shrugs. “Nah, fuck that,” she says. “This cost way more than wine, it’ll be fine.”

“I meant the good kind of wine, Lou,” Harry says.

Louis scrunches her face up. “Why would I waste my money on that shit?”

Harry sighs.

“Besides,” Louis continues, “Zayn and Niall hate that stuff as much as I do. I’m sure this’ll be fine.”

Harry looks more doubtful, if anything.

“It will!” Louis insists. “This’ll get ‘em drunk way faster!”

The door opens before the situation can escalate.

“You’re here!” Zayn says when she sees them, smiling widely. She turns her head back into the house. “Come in, come in!”

She’s got one of her skin tight black dresses on, showing off her arse and her spectacular rack. But it’s not about her body tonight – that much is very clear. She’s got her hair up in a loose bun, showing off the sharp undercut around the base of her skull. With the dark lipstick she’s wearing, she looks positively deadly.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Harry says. “What the hell - you look like you’re from Game of Thrones.”

Zayn positively preens. “Thanks,” she says. “That’s what Niall said.”

Louis raises a brow. “I bet he did, you dirty fuck.”

Zayn rolls her eyes and leans towards Harry. “He said I was his sun and stars, you know,” she says conspiratorially.

Even though it was clearly not directed at her, Louis can’t help but groan.

“Oh god, you’re a sap – that’s fucking worse,” Louis complains. It’s tough to ignore the way Harry’s entire expression has melted into a mess of veritable heart eyes, but Louis manages it. Barely.

Zayn rolls her eyes again – which, to be perfectly honest, is something Louis’ quite used to. “Babes, Harry and Lou’re here!” she shouts into the house.

Niall shouts back enthusiastically. “ _Weh-hey_!” he shouts. “I fucking told you so!”

When Zayn turns back, Louis’ got an eyebrow high and a suspicious look on her face. He told her so? “Did you think we wouldn’t show, Malik?” Louis demands.

Zayn shrugs, the traitor. “Wasn’t sure, to be honest. Thought you might have more important things to do.” She shoots them a significant look that makes Harry blush. Zayn and Niall have been filled in on their _situation_ since it began, and joking about it for just as long. It’s nice to hear them laughing about it – makes Louis feel like it’s not quite as serious as it seems in the light of day. Plus, it never fails to put a pretty pink in Harry’s cheeks.

But still, can’t let Zayn gain the upper hand. “You going around insulting my good name, Malik?”

Harry snorts.

Zayn smirks. “ _Good_ name?”

“How very dare—”

“—yeah, yeah,” Harry interrupts. She digs her elbow into Louis’ gut and takes the bottle from her hand, while Louis’ splutters. “We brought you this – sorry it’s not wine.”

Zayn takes the drink with a wide grin — “nah, don’t worry about that. This is way better, thanks,” she says.

Louis takes a quick break from feeling indignant to shoot Harry a very smug look.

.

It becomes quickly apparent that combined, Zayn and Niall have a lot of friends that Louis doesn’t know. It’s not really a surprise. A lot of Zayn’s art friends are there, as well as a few of the girls she models with, and a very loud group of boys who appear to play some sort of sport with Niall on the weekends. Some of Harry and Niall’s co-workers from the bar are also there and seem desperate to find more people that they know. They steal Harry away without hesitation, hanging onto her like she’s their last hope.

And surrounded by the offensively good looking people that make up Niall and Zayn’s combined social circles, Louis can’t really blame them.

It isn’t long before Louis spots Liam and Sophia, lingering in the corner of the living room. They’re scanning the other guests as well, apparently acquainted with as many people as Louis’ is. Liam looks vaguely uncomfortable, a shadow of his younger self shining through a little. Beside him Sophia, looking as immaculate as ever, is sipping delicately from a glass of ( _ugh_ ) wine.

Louis slips over in a matter of seconds, snatching a glass for herself on the way. “Ladies,” she says, raising her drink to them before taking a long sip. “Good evening.”

Liam relaxes a little and Sophia shoots her a soft smile. “Hey Lou,” Liam says. “Just got here then?”

Louis taps her nose conspiratorially. “Good instincts you’ve got there, Mr. Payne,” she says.

Liam punches her gently in the arm, his cheeks turning slightly pink while Sophia snickers into her glass. “Shut up,” he says. “We were hoping you’d skive off, it’s been more fun without you.”

“It would _never_ ,” Louis gasps.

Liam rolls his eyes. Louis’ getting a lot of that tonight.

“So,” Louis asks, peering around the room. “You checked out this pinball machine yet?” She can see it in the corner where Niall’s gathered a small crowd to watch him play.

Liam nods “Yeah, it’s awesome,” he gushes. It’s no surprise, really, because Liam’s always been enthusiastic about all things Marvel. It’s why he and Zayn get on so well. “Me and Niall had a few games before everyone else got here.”

Louis frowns. The party had officially started at around four o’clock – and Harry and Louis had only arrived around seven. “You must’ve been here for ages then,” she says.

Sophia shoots Louis a significant look. “Yup,” she says flatly.  

Liam flushes a little.

“Hang on,” Louis says, “how can you play a game with someone, isn’t pinball a one person thing?”

The look that Liam sends her carries a clear message. _Oh Louis_ , it says. _You have so, so much to learn._ Louis hates that look.

“ _Well_ —” Liam begins.

“—Oh god,” Sophia says. “You’ve got him started, I’m out of here.” She pats Liam’s chest gently, the look on her face overwhelmingly fond. “Come find me when you’re not being boring.”

Liam pouts momentarily, but he’s apparently too enthusiastic to be upset for too long. He watches her go for just a second, before looking intently back to Louis.

“I’m going to need another drink for this, aren’t I?” She says.

Liam ignores her and starts talking.

It’s not that difficult to listen to him talk. He’s always been hopelessly earnest, and somehow it only gets worse when he’s talking about trivial stuff – like comic books and Drake. He talks for about half an hour about the intricacies of pinball exchange – and Louis only has two more glasses of wine. He only settles when Zayn comes out, calling for everyone to come and start eating – but he continues to explain as they walk.

He’s actually still talking about it as they sit at the table. “ — It’s easier if you think about it as an exchanged competition, instead of some kind of team sport — ”

“Oh, my god,” Sophia says – as she comes over. “Are you still talking about this?”

Liam doesn’t blink, moving behind her and pulling out a chair for her to sit down while he keeps talking. “I suppose you _could_ play with a person each, if you wanted. You’d just have to share the control of the left and the right.”

To be honest, Louis’ not really listening any more. Harry’s chatting casually with the person sitting next to her – an unthreatening looking omega that Louis thinks might be a friend from Zayn’s art school. He’s leaning close, his hand lingering at the back of Harry’s chair as they talk.

And, like – Louis’ doesn’t get jealous _that_ easily. And she certainly isn’t one to feel threatened. She’s a hot alpha, with a hot alpha girlfriend – and she and Harry have always been very clear about how important they are to each other. They’re exclusive, together in all the ways you can be together – and completely honest with each other. Besides – Harry is very clearly not interested, leaning away from the omega’s attentions and politely making sure that they don’t touch.

But Louis’ feeling a little frazzled. The past few weeks have been exhausting – listening to person after person telling them that they won’t be able to manage the following days. It’s hard, to hear again and again that she isn’t the right person for Harry – that no matter how they feel inside, biologically they don’t fit.

And now there’s this omega. This man who’s Harry’s perfect fit, and clearly very interested. The kind of person Harry _should_ want.

“It must be a great course, if you’re all as talented as Zayn is,” Harry’s saying.

The man laughs. “Not everyone’s as good as her, that’s for sure,” he says. “But I like to think that some of us give her a run for her money.”

Harry laughs.

It kills Louis’ appetite in a matter of seconds. She focuses on her plate, shuffling some of her food around as she forces her brain to calm the fuck down. Harry loves her, Harry wants her – they wouldn’t be going through the shit they’re going through if Harry wasn’t just as dedicated as Louis is.

She turns back to Liam and Sophia, hoping they’ll distract her. Sophia’s somehow managed to finally turn Liam from the pinball machine, and they’re now talking excitedly about the plans for their upcoming holiday.

“We’re going to spend three weeks in Australia,” Sophia says happily to one of Niall’s friends on Harry’s other side. “Everyone’s been telling us how incredible the beaches are – and Liam wants to do a bit of scuba diving.”

Liam nods. “They’ve got some great hiking trails there as well,” he says.

Sophia looks a little less happy about that part. “There are hiking trails here, love,” she says. “And they don’t have all the poisonous animals.”

Liam bats that away like it’s barely a concern. “It can’t be that bad, Soph,” he grins. “Otherwise all the Australian’s would be dead, wouldn’t they?”

Sophia doesn’t look convinced.

Louis leans forward to smile at her. “Don’t worry about him,” she says. “He just wants to see a Koala.”

“Everyone wants to see a koala, Louis,” Liam says and everyone laughs.

Niall’s friend has been to Australia, apparently, and is happy to talk about all the non-venomous parts of the country. It’s easy to listen to, the sort of bland conversation Louis can be a part of without too much active participation. And it helps a lot to distract Louis from the awkward small talk going on across from her. She starts eating again, nodding and humming her agreement when it’s necessary – but otherwise focusing on talking herself down. There’s no reason to get defensive, she tells herself. And it works.

For a while, at least.

Sophia leans forward and grabs Louis’ attention with a lovely smile. “So do you guys have anything exciting coming up?” she asks.

Louis shakes her head, glancing fondly at Harry. “Nah,” she says. “We’re going to have a quiet few.” Her voice catches Harry’s attention and her conversation halts as she looks back. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

The babe is probably unnecessary – but it reassures Louis a little bit more.

“Mhmmm,” Harry says, smiling. “Nice and quiet.”

Liam chuckles as he looks at them both. “Look at that, Tommo,” he says with a laugh. “You’ve gone domestic.”

Louis feels a rush of warmth flood through her - because she really, really has – even while she makes an indignant sound. “You bite your tongue, Liam Payne,” she orders.

Liam laughs a little louder. “No, really,” he says. “Congratulations, Harry – I never thought I’d see the day.”

A small smile finds its place on Harry’s features, a gentle, fond thing that makes Louis’ insides feel mushy. “She was easy, in the end,” she says softly.

“Hey—!” Louis protests.

Harry just quirks a brow at her, challenging her to disagree. Harry’s smile is so, so lovely that for a second, Louis can’t help but wonder what she’d even been worried about.

Then of course it promptly goes to shit.

“Wait,” the omega says suddenly. “You two? You’re a thing?”

Louis tenses a little and feels her smile turn a little more brittle. She nods though, staying calm. “A veritable thing, even,” Louis says with a wink.

She reaches across the table and Harry’s hand meets hers in the middle. Harry holds her hand firmly and it’s the only indication that she can tell Louis’ not completely relaxed. Her voice, when she speaks again, is as casual as ever. “You’re a fairly massive dork, you know that right?” she says. “You were much cooler when we met, what happened?”

“You did,” Liam snorts. He gives a pointed look to their joined hands. “That’s all you, Harry.”

Louis winks at Harry, squeezing her hand. “You break it, you bought it, love.”

Liam and Sophia groaned loud – and yeah, she is being a bit lame, but Louis doesn’t feel as embarrassed as she might once have. She and Harry are fucking cute.

“You’re together?” the omega asks again.

This time Louis’ not quite as gentle. “You’re a clever young thing, aren’t you?” she says, a new edge to her tone.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry tuts.

Yeah, yeah, Louis thinks. It’s not as though she doesn’t have a reason to be snarky. All this guy has to do is use his eyes to answer his own stupid questions. But for some reason, he still doesn’t seem to get it.

“But you’re,” he says, sounding bewildered. “And she’s – you’re both – ”

It’s not like they don’t know what he’s talking about. The word he’s refusing to say is loud, even in its absence.

“Alphas?” Louis offers with a hint of a snarl.

Harry grips her hand tightly. “Uh, yeah?” she says. Her voice is far gentler than Louis’ – like she’s trying to diffuse the situation. They’ve got the attention of more of the table now, as conversation halts to see what the trouble is.

“Does it matter?” Louis demands.

The omega looks nonplussed. “No, course not,” he says. “Just – wow, how does that even work?”

Louis scowls because _what the fuck_? It’s not exactly like an alpha pairing is something revolutionary. It’s rare, to be sure – but she and Harry definitely aren’t the first. There are thousands of alpha pairings, all over the world. Millions, probably. This guy was staring at them like they were insane, like he couldn’t even wrap his head around the concept.

And Louis’ been grated down to her core in the last few weeks and she just doesn’t have the _fucking_ patience.

“Excuse me?” she hisses.

Liam does his best to calm the situation down. “Lou - ” he says carefully. “I think – I think he’s just a bit confused, you know? Because you’re both – ”

“I’m not sure how that’s any of his fucking business, mate,” Louis snaps.

“No, I know, it’s just – ”

“It’s not just anything!”

“ _Lou_.” Harry tugs on Louis’ hand a little.

It’s the same _‘Lou_ ’ that Louis gets whenever she’s in trouble. Harry usually whips it out when it’s needed, when Louis’ too drunk and too loud or a little too rude. But this time, Louis’ not the one that’s fucking wrong.

“Don’t – ” Louis says, because she can’t handle Harry ‘ _Lou_ ing’ her right now. “Haz, it’s not his business.”

Harry nods gently. “I know, come on,” she says – and she lets go of Louis’ hand to push her chair out and stand up.

“No,” Louis says stubbornly, “he should – ”

Harry’s always been good at interrupting her and getting away with it. “I know, Lou,” she says again. She turns and levels the man with a dark look – and Louis doesn’t know how it feels to receive that look, but it’s no surprise that the omega shrinks away from it. “He should know better,” she says.

The whole table’s listening now.

Harry turns to Niall and Zayn, sitting at the other end of the table. “Thanks for having us, you guys,” she says – and her tone is suddenly soft and polite again. “We’ll see you in a few weeks, yeah?”

Harry’s away from the table before they’ve even started nodding, coming to Louis’ side and herding her away. She leads them straight to the front room, where Louis had left her coat. Zayn follows them out, showing them to the door with an apologetic look on her face. “Sorry,” she says, looking forlorn. “He’s a bit of a prat – I didn’t really want to invite him.”

Louis, still feeling tense, laughs. “Maybe leave off next time, yeah?” she says.

Zayn smiles weakly and Harry shoots her an apologetic look – apologetic _because of Louis_. “Sorry, she’s just a bit,” she tries to explain. “We’re both a bit tense, at the moment.”

Explaining it, that they even _have_ to explain tears at Louis’ already frayed nerves and she clenches her fists. Before she can get furious though, Zayn settles a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“It’ll be fine,” she says sternly – looking Louis’ straight in the eye. “Stop psyching yourself out, you’re only going to make it worse.”

Anyone else, and Louis may well have punched them in the face. With Zayn, she just deflates. The tenseness in her shoulders leaks away as she lets out a frustrated sigh. “Zayn—” she starts.

“Its fine,” Zayn interrupts. “Go home, and calm down. You’re going to be fine.”

She pushes them out the door before Louis can begin to figure out how to apologise, with one last significant look to Harry. _Take care of her,_ it says clearly. Like it’s Harry’s job to take care of Louis and not the other way around. She shuts the door and it clicks with an air of finality, leaving Harry and Louis alone on the doorstep.

Harry waits for a few quiet seconds. Louis stays silent and stares at her feet as the cold soothes Louis’ temper. It’s only when Louis forces herself to look up that Harry makes a noise.

She sighs and reaches out, settling her hand on Louis’ neck and wrapping her long fingers around her nape. She pulls Louis forward gently, and presses a sweet kiss to the top of Louis’ head.

“Come on,” she says gently. “Let’s get out of here.”

**.**

**t-minus two days**

**.**

If anything, Louis’ more tense in the following few days. It’s no surprise, as their rut dates get closer and closer, but it’s making the whole situation ten times worse. Harry’s doing her best to keep Louis in high spirits – and she’s always a little extra cute when she’s battling Louis’ grumpiness. 

“Hey?” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ attention. “What do you think? Yes?” 

When Louis looks up, Harry’s holding a red lace bra and some matching undies up to her body – shaking her hips and waggling her eyebrows. “ _Yeaahhh?”_ she says again.

Louis’ stares at her.

Harry clearly takes this as positive feedback.

“ _Yes_!” she says decisively, tucking the set under her arm. She doesn’t stop looking, searching curiously through the rest of the lingerie section. “Now we’ve got to find you a pair just as good.” She shoots Louis a wicked look. “I’m not setting for just anyone, you know.”

“Hey,” Louis says.  

Harry shrugs. “You’ve got to work to keep my attention somehow, Tomlinson,” she says. “Practice for when you lose your arse.”

“ _Hey—_!”

Harry holds up a faux-leather pair of crotchless panties, and a few straps that could possibly be a bra. “How about these?”

She’s waggling her eyebrows again.

“You are such a sleaze, Styles,” Louis says.

It’s quite a lovely feeling, Louis thinks, loving Harry. Even while she waves the panties in the air, in the middle of a department store. A nearby mother is herding her child away, a nasty scowl on her face, and all Louis can think is _I love you._

“Oh, my god - I think this one comes with a whip!”  

“We’re in _Primark_ ,” Louis says.

And speaking of Primark, the staff of said fine establishment kicks them out fairly quickly – probably on behalf of the mother Harry scared away. They’re rushed out of the store so quickly that Harry isn’t even allowed to buy the underwear.

And yet, she remains positive.

“Come on,” she says, shooting a dirty look at the Primark doors before tugging Louis down the street. “I’m sure Marks and Spencer sell whips.”

“I’m absolutely sure they don’t,” Louis says.

.

Harry does end up forcing Louis into some lingerie. In some bizarre effort to turn Louis’ spirits, she marches Louis to the change room and waits diligently outside while she changes.

The turquoise set Louis tries first pinches underneath her boobs and under her arms. Not exactly the best way to get into the mood.

“This is stupid,” Louis whines.

But Harry won’t hear of it.

“No, come on – we’re treating ourselves,” she says.

Louis grumbles as she struggles out of the first set and into the next. Normally, when she’s in a bad mood like this one, she can’t find it in to herself to be so patient with Harry. But there’d been something in Harry’s eye when she picked this particular set that’s settling Louis’ nerves.

It’s a deep red colour, not much darker than the one Harry had played with in Primark, but against Louis’ skin it looks far more dramatic. The colour sets off the freckles on her hips and boobs and against all odds, makes her feel really fucking pretty.

It’s not quite enough to de-stress her, but the thought of Harry’s reaction is at least enough to distract her.

Harry comes through with flying colours.

Louis beckons her inside the change room with a sneaky wave, then steps back while Harry slips through the door. Then she turns around and gapes.

“Alright?” Louis asks.

“You – you, you,” Harry stammers.

Louis preens. “Yeah?”

“I, uhhh,”

Speechless Harry is one of Louis’ favourite Harry’s. For the first time all day, a genuine smile creeps onto Louis’ face. She swings her hips a little as she walks closer to Harry. She leans close when she can, her fingers skirting the skin at Harry’s neck. “Do you like it?” she asks quietly.

Harry’s hands settle very securely on Louis’ waist. When she speaks, her voice sounds a little hoarse.

“You – you should only wear this,” she says.

Louis leans close and bites gently at Harry’s earlobe. “You should stop watching so much Veronica Mars,” she says.

Harry makes a noise of protest that makes Louis’ giggle. “Hey,” she says. “It’s a very impressive television show, it’s got an amazing female lead and a really compelling storyline that essentially teaches young girls they can be tough but cute as well and – ”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts gently.

“Yeah?”

“Look at my boobs again.”

Harry’s eyes flicker down. Her cheeks go pink. “R-right,” she says.

“Yeah?” Louis says. She thrusts her chest out a little, pressing her boobs up against Harry’s chest, so they spill a little from the bra. It’s a tactic she’s employed several times at Harry’s expense – hell, she’d even done it at the bar, the first night they’d met – but every time Harry’s reaction makes her glow.

Harry clears her throat awkwardly. “ _Yeah_ ,” she says lowly.

And yeah, Louis’ proper grinning now. It’s actually a bit annoying that Harry’s lifted her mood because she hasn’t done it with any tactic or plan. The only thing she’s done is be one hundred percent genuine (and ogle Louis a little), and Louis suddenly feels like everything might be okay.

Harry brings her hand up and very gently runs the back of her fingertip across the strap of Louis’ bra. “You should get it, Lou,” she says softly. “For this weekend?”

And it’s gentle. Gentle the way that Harry always is with Louis. But there’s something timid that presses through the soft words and it raises the hair on the back of Louis’ neck. It sounds – it sounds like Harry’s _scared_ of her. Of how Louis’ going to react.

Heavy disappointment settles on Louis’ shoulders. She tries to keep her smile casual, to reassure Harry – but she can feel the lines on her face tighten. “There’s no point, Haz,” she says.

Harry’s face falls anyway. “What?” she says. “Are you kidding? Look at you — Lou, you’re _smiling_.” Of course Harry’s not talking about her boobs or her arse. Of course Harry’s only got eyes for her smile.

It’s too sweet for Louis’ smile to vanish completely. “You know I’ll only ruin it,” she says.

Harry shakes her head. “No, you won’t.” 

“Yes, I will!” Louis says, and it’s almost a shout. She feels hot now, even just in the scraps of underwear. “I’ll rip it or I’ll tear it or something! And I’ll do exactly the same to whatever you’ll be wearing!”

Harry ducks her head. “You do that already,” she says with a careful smile.

Louis can’t quite handle careful right now. “Don’t—” she says hastily. “Just – you know my point, Harry.” Her voice softens as she forces herself to take a breath. “This weekend isn’t about being sexy.”

Harry’s expression hardens. “We’ll be having sex, Louis,” Harry says flatly.

It’s hard not to feel cornered, the way things are going. The change room feels cramped, the small space not designed for two people. Louis’ skin feels too tight, her blood too thin and her pulse too loud in her ears. This is – this is everything Louis’ been afraid of saying.

“Yeah,” Louis says, “but not – not _real_ sex.”

It sounds so fucking stupid when she says it out loud. Real sex. _Real_ sex, like the words make it different. Louis’ never liked to call sex anything other than what it is. She’s always sneered right in the face of people calling it ‘making love.’

But this is more than that. What Harry and Louis have – whether it’s fucking, or having sex or whatever – it’s theirs. It’s something they share with simply each other, something that belongs to just the two of them that no one else can touch. And this – their stupid _fucking_ rut is stripping them of that.

“Real sex,” Harry repeats.

Louis takes a step away, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Don’t look at me like this is news to you!” she says loudly. “We’re going into _rut -_ we’re going to be out of our minds!”

Harry’s eyes narrow – and all of a sudden she’s looking at Louis the same way she’d been looking at the doctors all those weeks ago.

“We are _not_ animals,” she says stonily.

“During ruts we are!” Louis says. Her muscles feel stretched to their very limit and her limbs flail uselessly as she struggles to find the right words. In the end, she just goes with the truth. “I won’t be able to control myself _at all_ and if by some _miracle_ I can, the only think I’ll be doing is stopping myself from hurting you, okay?!”

For a beat, it’s silent in the small change room – save for the sound of Louis’ heavy breathing.

Then Harry’s hardened expression falters, and her tense posture completely deflates.

“Lou,” she says softly.

Louis dodges whatever look Harry’s shooting her, and glances awkwardly around the change room. Her clothes are piled haphazardly in the corner, the blue bra and panties strewn on top and _fuck_ she’s still in the red underwear. She takes a deep breath.

“We should—”

Leave. They should leave.

“We should buy it,” Harry says instead.

“Harry,” Louis says.

“No, listen. You should buy it,” Harry insists. “Even if we don’t use it this weekend, we’ll use it after.”

Louis shifts, scratching at an itch on her arm. “It’s a waste,” she says quietly.

Harry huffs, before holding her hand out. “Fine,” she says, “give it to me and I’ll buy it.”

“Harry, come on.”

But Harry doesn’t give an inch. When Louis’ finally looks up and meets Harry’s gaze, her expression is gentle, but determined. She seems completely sure of herself and a part of Louis feels viciously jealous of that. _We’ll use it after_ , she thinks. Right. If there is an after. So many things could go wrong with their rut. Alphas that’ve tried to do this before have hurt each other, even sent each other to the emergency room.

If Louis’ puts Harry in hospital, she’ll never fucking forgive herself.

“Okay?” Harry says.

Louis runs a tense hand through her hair, ripping at the strands. Her eyes water a little – from the pain, or from the frustration. “Yeah, okay!” she says angrily, “Fuck. Just – just let me get changed, okay?”

Harry steps a little further back, but even then – there’s a small smile on her lips. She looks at Louis like she understands. Like she knows exactly why Louis’ so stressed.

“Okay,” she says, “pass it out when you’re ready.” She slips out of the change room as sneakily as she’d slipped it – leaving Louis feeling completely wrecked inside.

If Harry hears Louis cry as she changes, then she doesn’t mention it – and Louis’ very grateful.

**.**

**t-minus four hours**

**.**

It doesn’t get better. The following two days are a jumble of stress and tension, lining Louis’ muscles and lingering in their small apartment. Harry cooks dinner the night before, but Louis’ far too hyped to even think about eating anything. They go to bed quietly, and Louis can’t bring herself to touch Harry – too worried about what she’ll do in the coming hours.

But she’s never been very good at sleeping without Harry’s touch. It’s no surprise, really, that at around four a.m., she gives up entirely and slips out of bed.

Harry finds her fifteen minutes later, sitting in the bathtub in her underwear, with her knees tucked under her chin. She’s got one of Harry’s shirts on, a sheer white tee that’s so wide in the neck it hangs off of Louis’ shoulder – and it’s cold, sure, but she feels too fucking _safe_ in it to consider swapping it for something a little sturdier.

Besides, the cold helps. It helps a lot.

The bitter sting of the porcelain against Louis’ thighs and arse grounds her little, the quiet of the room chilling the air around her. It makes it easier to breathe, to think. To try and figure out exactly where they’ll stand this time in a few days. 

Harry doesn’t hesitate, stepping into the empty tub with her.

“Lou,” she says gently. She sinks down opposite Louis, bringing her legs up and reaching out to take one of Louis’ hands from where she’s hugging her own knees. She runs a thumb over Louis’ knuckles, and leans close. “Lou, it’s alright.”

And god, Louis thinks. She’s so fucking lovely.

She’s as gentle as ever as she moves Louis’ hands. Louis hadn’t noticed her own fingernails digging into the flesh of her legs, like some final way to fight her bodies’ infuriating instincts. She hasn’t quite drawn blood, but the half moon imprints left in her skin are deep enough to stay even when her hands are pulled away. Harry rubs at them softly, like her touch is enough to wipe any pain away.

“Lou, Lou, Lou,” she coos quietly, like Louis’ some kind of spooked animal. “It’s alright, it’s all alright.”

The embarrassing noise Louis’ lets out is somewhere between a sob and a cough. She hadn’t even realised she was crying, but when she pulls her hands from Harry’s grasp to rub at her eyes there’s no doubting the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“What if I hurt you?” she asks quietly.

Harry settles her hand on Louis’ ankle, rubbing up and along Louis’ shin as she smiles gently. “What if _I_ hurt _you_?” she says back.

Louis snorts, and rolls her eyes. “Right,” she says wetly. “Like you’d ever hurt me.”

Not a single person they’ve spoken to has been worried about what Harry might do to Louis. Everyone they know, every single person who knows what’s about to happen, is worried for Harry. Worried about what Louis might do to Harry, without her conscience there to keep herself in check.

And it’s not unfounded either. Louis’ always been more aggressive, tougher to handle. And Harry – Harry who’s so sweet, and soft, and gentle – has always been the one to put up with it.

_Well, you’re wild even when you_ are _in control, innit?_ Zayn had said once, and Zayn had been completely fucking right.

Harry’s smile doesn’t falter, nor does her hand as it runs up Louis’ leg. “I think I might surprise you, you know,” she says.

Louis just rolls her eyes again, scoffs into her own knees and goes to bury her head.

Harry’s grip tightens suddenly around her ankle. “No,” she says. “Listen to me. _Louis._ ” Harry’s fingers dig in as she waits for Louis to lift her head. When she does, she doesn’t pause and listen to what Louis clearly has to say. “You’re an alpha, but you’re not _my_ alpha – you understand?”

Louis stares at her.

Harry stares unrepentantly back. “You’re my _mate_ ,” she says sternly – and it’s the first time either of them have said that word. It lands like a punch to Louis’ gut. “If I don’t like something you tell me to do, I’m gonna fucking say something about it.”

Louis makes a wild noise. “That’s the fucking point, Haz!” she says, her voice a little desperate. “You’re going to fight me, and I’m going to hurt you to get my way. I’m going to _hurt_ you.”

She sounds so weak when she finishes, more open and vulnerable than she ever has before. She feels it as well, like she’s been unstitched and opened up, exposed completely to Harry.

But when she looks up and meets Harry’s eyes, she doesn’t see the soft, gentle expression she’d been expecting. Instead, her girlfriend’s eyes have turned hard.

“Stay there,” Harry says.

Louis blinks. “Haz—?” she starts to say, bewildered.

“No,” Harry interrupts. “Stay _there_.”

Louis stays, brain whirring furiously to try and figure out what Harry thinks she’s doing. She twists her body, almost completely out of the tub, to stretch out and reach the cupboard beneath their bathroom sink. She digs around blindly for a moment, before she apparently finds what she was looking for and pulls back.

She settles back in the tub, a pair of nail clippers in her hand. “C’mere,” she says.

Louis thinks about asking again, asking what the hell’s changed all of a sudden – but the look Harry shoots her is enough to stop her. There’s no crease to her brow, or scowl on her lips – so Louis feels slightly reassured in thinking she’s not angry – but there’s something to the harsh line of Harry’s lips that makes her wary.

She shifts forward a little – but not close enough, apparently. Harry doesn’t give her any warning before reaching out and grabbing her arse. She drags Louis forward, bumping their legs together for a second before she negotiates their close proximity. She lifts Louis’ left leg and pulls it over her right before she settles.

Louis breathes out shakily. “Hey,” she says.

Harry’s gentle smile reappears for a fraction of a second, content now with how closely they’re nestled. But it doesn’t last, and in no time at all she’s stern again. She takes Louis’ hand – far more gently than her expression would suggest – and lifts the nail clippers to Louis’ smallest finger.

“You’re a bloody menace, you know,” she says matter-of-factly. She snips the nail away and it flies out of sight.

Louis gapes at her. She doesn’t quite splutter, but it’s a close thing. “What—?”

Harry shushes her, and keeps talking. “You’re a fucking spitfire, you are,” she says. As she talks, she moves through the nails of Louis’ left hand with surprising speed, cutting away far more than Louis usually does – til there’s barely any white left on the nail at all, just little pink stubs. “You’re loud and you’re rough and you’re really kind of annoying, sometimes.”

This time Louis definitely splutters. “Hey, now—!”

Harry finishes with her thumb, snipping it away, and then brings Louis’ hand to her lips. She presses a sweet kiss to the back of her palm.

“And I love you for it,” she says, interrupting Louis again. “I really do.”

It’s the first time they’ve said that word, as well. Louis falls silent, quiet, as she watches Harry. For some odd reason, she’s suddenly aware of her own breathing – and the soft rise and fall over her own chest.

Harry’s face isn’t stony any more – it’s open, and delicate, and as perfect as it always is.

Louis swallows. “Really?” she says.

“Really,” Harry says. “Now, come on. Other hand?”

She holds out her own hand, palm up, and waits. Feeling rather numb, Louis reaches out and lets her take a hold of her right hand. Harry hums and gets to work again, like she hasn’t said something life-altering.

(And maybe that’s the best part, that she said it so simply, so casually. Like it’s the kind of thing she’d say every day, mixed in with the ‘see you tonight’s’ and the ‘we’re out of milk’s’.)

“But the thing is, babe,” Harry starts talking again. “I think because you’re so loud, you sometimes forget that I’m quite loud as well.”

And that’s — that’s —

Well, it’s true, really. Harry may be full of sweet smiles and soft touches, but she’s loud in other ways. The way she carries herself, with her untamed hair and ridiculous head scarves, is as unapologetic as Louis’ voice is. It’s why Louis’ liked her, that night in the bar all those months ago. Her low tone and her long, drawn out words had caught Louis’ attention, and from there Louis was caught - trapped in a whirlwind of terrible flirting and long, long legs.

“Tomorrow’s going to be tough,” she says. She finishes the right hand equally as quick, and then runs the flats of the fingers over Louis’ to make sure they’re all smooth. “But every part of my body tells me I love you, and I don’t think any hormones or instinct can take that away.”

Louis may pass out. There’s a very, very good chance that Louis’ going to pass out.

Harry, apparently satisfied with the new length of Louis’ nails, now wraps both of Louis’ hands up in her much larger ones. She presses another kiss to Louis’ hands, this time to her fingers.

“I love you too,” Louis says her voice a little hoarse.

Harry’s responding smile lights up her whole face, splitting her cheeks and pushing all the way up to the little lines at the corner of her eyes. She bites her lip, like she hadn’t been expecting Louis to say it back, silly thing.

“I’m glad,” she says, squeezing Louis’ hands once more before letting them go. She pushes her own hands into Louis’ space, passing over the nail clippers. “Now do me.”

Gingerly, Louis takes one of her hands and considers her nails carefully. Harry has always kept hers short, afraid of scratching up Louis’ back too much. Louis didn’t mind as much, enjoyed seeing the red marks stain Harry’s skin. But it was clever, she thinks, to cut them now. Especially since neither of them knew what would happen in the following few days, or how aggressive they might get.

She delicately pulls Harry’s thumb away from the others and gets to work.

It take her longer to do Harry’s nails – probably because Harry does it more often, and seemed more sure she wasn’t going to cut too low. After about ten minutes of quiet murmurs and whispered ‘I love you’s’, Louis is finally satisfied with her job and puts the clippers down. They don’t head to bed though. Even though she’s far calmer, Louis’ pulse is still racing in anticipation for the next few days – and she knows very well that she won’t get any sleep if they go to the bedroom and tries to force her brain to rest – so instead they go to the living room. One of Harry’s terrible soaps is playing reruns on the telly, so they curl up on the couch and settle in. When Louis does finally drop off, it’s wrapped up in Harry’s arms feeling safe, and reassured, and loved.

**.**

**t-minus zero hours**

**.**

She wakes up face down on the couch, which is a bit bizarre because she remembers very clearly falling asleep on her side, and there’s not that much room to roll over when two people have to share.

And speaking of — there’s a heavy weight pressing down on her, a wide hand with delicate fingers pressing at her lower back and pushing at her large white t-shirt. Louis’ brain is hazy and hot, but not so caught up that she can’t figure out who it is that’s straddling her upper thighs.

Harry rolls her hips and lets out a breathless sigh. “ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes out hotly. The move presses Louis down into the couch, and the shirt she’s wearing isn’t quite thick enough to protect her from the bristles on the upholstery. The fabric scratches at her nipples and she shudders, moaning a little.

The hand at her back is suddenly heavier, as Harry presses down a little more.

“ _Morning_ ,” she drawls, sounding nothing like Harry at all. There’s something hot in her voice, some satisfied and smug.  

Louis’ blood ignites hearing it and she snarls, suddenly furious. She bucks her hips in an effort to dislodge Harry, but Harry’s thighs clamp down and when they land her weight is heavier than ever.

She tuts, and the sound grates against Louis’ temper. “None of that,” she sneers, and it only makes Louis try again.

Her second attempt is more successful – but she still doesn’t quite manage it. She frees her left arm from where her own weight has trapped it and reaches out, trying to grab a part of Harry to haul her away. Before she can make contact though, Harry’s strong grip clenches around her wrist and twists her arm up along her back.

“Stay,” she orders, and then she rolls her hips again. The hand that isn’t holding Louis’ captive snakes up the back of Louis’ ( _Harry’s_ ) white t-shirt, pushing it away and uncovering Louis’ arse – clad only in a pair of black pants. “Fuck,” she says again.

Then she brings that same hand down, slapping Louis’ arse and watching it wobble.

Louis’ snarls and bucks her hips again, suddenly desperate to be in control. Harry’s hand paws at her arse, squeezing her left cheek hard enough to bruise as she leans down. She’s always been taller than Louis, so her torso as good as covers hers when she leans down and bites roughly at Louis’ ear. “M’gonna fuck you so hard, Lou,” she hisses, and her hips start rocking again. “So good, you won’t be able to walk, you’re gonna beg for it, beg for me,Lou.”

Louis wants to tear her to fucking pieces.

She struggles, even as it tugs at the twisted muscles of her arm. “I guess it’s a good thing you woke up early, then,” she snarls. The thought of Harry straddling her before she woke and desperately rubbing against her while she stirred send a white hot thrill of excitement straight to Louis’ groin. “You knew exactly who’d be in charge if it was a fucking fair fight – you knew you wouldn’t stand a fucking chance.”

“Yeah?” Harry says, panting wetly into Louis’ ear, her hips still rolling against Louis’ thighs. “Prove it then—” she scrapes her teeth roughly down Louis’ neck and then adds the final injury: “— _bitch_.”

That, if nothing else, is enough motivation for Louis to buck her hips a final time. This time, she twists her body as well – and it’s worth the sharp spark of pain in her arm because Harry loses her grip and Louis slips free. They both tumble to the ground, Louis moving just fast enough to gain the upper hand as she grabs a fistful of Harry’s hair. She yanks, hard, and rolls Harry onto her back before she straddles her chest. Her knees come down on either side of her, trapping her arms down and holding them there.

It’s Louis’ turn to rolls her hips now. She presses close and groans at how hot Harry’s skin is against her. She looks down at Harry and smiles sweetly, finally releasing her hair – even as the younger girl spits and snarls from between her legs.

“Who’s the bitch now, bitch?” she grins.

She takes a second to look at her. Her chest and neck are flushed red, and she breathing hard – panting, from the fall. Her hair is all over the place, untamed curls only messier after the rough treatment from Louis’ hands. She looks wild, and sweaty and so, so hot for it.

Her breasts are flushed pink as well, dancing deliciously as Harry struggles to free her arms. It’s too tempting to ignore.

Louis reaches down and grabs her nipple, pinching and twisting savagely. Harry lets out a squawk of outrage, but she’s not quite loud enough to drown out the soft groan that escapes her as well – or mask the little jump of her hips in response. Naturally, Louis does it again.

She plays until both of Harry’s nipples are rubbed and tugged raw, riding high on the feeling of control that’s flowing through her. It feels right to have Harry trapped, held down by her legs. But it’s not quite enough. She wants Harry to know – to understand and _admit_ that Louis’ the one in charge.

She leans down, the same way Harry had when Louis’ was pinned to the couch, only this time they face each other. She presses a hot kiss against Harry’s lips, biting there as well before she pulls back.

“How’d it feel?” she asks, feeling wicked and hot and high. “When you had me trapped, when I was still _asleep_? How long did you play at holding me down, at _being in charge_? Did it feel good?”

She kisses Harry again, and isn’t surprised this time when Harry bites back with just as much venom. It stings at Louis’ lip, but she barely notices it – too caught up in everything else.

“You couldn’t hold me down for more than a minute, could you babe?” Louis sneers. “You were too distracted humping me like a fucking _bitch_.”

Harry lets out a furious sound, and changes tactics. Instead of trying to pull her arms up and free, she lifts her hands and scratches at Louis’ skin. She digs her fingers in around Louis’ arse, pinching at the flesh.

Louis rocks back into her hands, and closes her eyes for a second. The friction against her cunt is so, _so_ good – exactly what she needs – and she can’t help snaking her hand down to play at her own clit. 

It’s a moment of weakness she can’t afford. As she rocks forward, she accidentally gives Harry enough room to bend her arms. As soon as that much is free, she shoves, pushing Louis forward. She rears forward and it gives Harry enough room to slip downwards and to freedom.

Louis recovers before Harry can grab her though, scurrying forward on her hands and knees. As soon as she’s out of the way, she pushes herself to her feet and spins around – just in time for Harry to slam into her, pressing her up against the wall and holding her there with her taller frame.

“ _Fuck—_!” Louis says – because of the way her head slammed into the wall, or maybe because of the way Harry presses her thigh forward, suddenly warm and solid right at Louis’ centre.

“Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you,” Harry says, and Louis doesn’t know what she’s talking about until Harry’s hand pushes into her underwear and her fingers scrape at her clit.

Louis groans, bucking her hips – to dislodge or to seek friction, she doesn’t quite know. “You think you own me, Styles?” she gasps.

Harry pushes a finger inside her and curls it. “I don’t _think_ it,” she says, as Louis clenches down hard on her digit. “It’s pretty clear to me.”

Louis’ hands had been, until that point, pushing fruitlessly at Harry’s shoulders – trying to shift some of her weight from where she had Louis pinned. She moves them now, twisting one in the hair closest to Harry’s scalp and bringing the other down to clutch at Harry’s wrist.

For a second they pause – meet each others’ loaded gaze and stare – before Louis shifts her hips and starts to fuck herself on Harry’s fingers.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Harry says. She leans forward, and drops her head at the nape of Louis’ neck to bite at the exposed flesh. “Fucking take it.”

Louis scoffs, “you think one fucking finger is _taking it_ , god, I can barely feel you, why do you think I’m doing all the—oh _fuck_!”

Harry shoves the second and third fingers in simultaneously, and the change takes Louis’ breath away for a second. She feels so, so full. Her grip on Harry’s wrist clenches and she thrusts her hips forward harder now, desperate to feel the burn.

“How’s that?” Harry sneers.

Louis laughs again. “Want to make sure you’re satisfying me?” she checks – even as she pushes Harry’s fingers deeper, riding her hand faster.  

Harry makes an angry noise, bites back into Louis’ neck and curls her fingers all at once.

Louis lets out a low moan, her head dropping back against the wall. Harry can have this one, she thinks – can give her this one. It’s still obviously clear who’s in charge, isn’t it? The way that her body relaxes obviously spurs Harry on. Her free hand palms roughly at Louis’ t-shirt covered breast while, the fingers of her other hand curling perfectly in _that_ fucking spot again and again and again.

Louis mewls as she crests, waves of pleasure spilling over her as she humps Harry’s hand and yanks on her hair. It’s good, it’s so, so good that the force of it clears her head for a second.

But then Harry slips her fingers out, and Louis’ comes back to herself. Harry’s guard is down as she rocks on Louis’ thigh desperately – and it takes nothing for Louis to stomp down on her foot and slip out of her grasp.

“ _Goddamnit_ , what the fuck?” Harry says.

Louis laughs, her head feeling a little clearer now that she’s come. “Sorry, babe,” she sings as she darts back towards the couch. “I got mine – that’s all I need.”

It’s not, actually. A big part of Louis wants to walk back over and take Harry in every way. She wants to fuck her and make her fall apart and smell her until the only thing she can smell is Harry’s intoxicating mix of heat and sweat and home.

But another part, the part that’s very much Louis’, wants to make Harry beg for it.

They’re standing on opposite sides of the room, far away that to reach each other they’d have to be fucking quick about it. It’s exhilarating, Louis thinks, like she’s the prey and the hunter at the same time. All she needs really is to be smarter than Harry.

Which, suddenly, seems easier said than done. Across the room, her bumbling, awkward girlfriend has been replaced by a fairly irate, horny alpha. Her fairly irate, horny _mate_.

And god, she looks fucking edible. She’s completely naked – the way she’d slept the night before. Her tits bounce with each breath she takes and, when she steps forward, Louis can see the wet that glistens on her thighs.

Louis wiggles her eyebrows, knowingly. “I guess you’ll have to sort _that_ out yourself,” she says.

Harry lets out a growl and lunges. 

Louis cackles and darts around the couch – trying to make a run for it - but she doesn’t get far. Harry catches her in just a few seconds, apparently graceful only in the chase, her long strides outpacing Louis’ in no time. She grabs Louis by the waist and heaves her into the air for a second, before swinging back around and flinging her over the arm of the couch.

Once again, Louis finds herself face down in the couch – only this time her arse is high up in the air, and she’s got come slick across her thighs.

Harry’s hand lands smack in the middle of the mess, this time with so much force that it rocks Louis’ whole body forward. She shrieks out of instinct, her playful side suddenly vanishing.

“Not in control anymore, are you?” Harry says, landing another heavy smack against Louis’ arse. “Not laughing anymore, _are you, Lou_?”

She holds Louis down by the back of her neck and lands blow after blow to Louis’ arse. Somehow, she manages to hit exactly the same place every time – and she only stops when the t-shirt apparently gets in her way. She reaches up and grabs the neck of it – pausing to sneer: “I guess you won’t be needing this anymore,” before tearing it apart. It hangs awkwardly for a second, two halves through the back but still caught on Louis’ shoulders, before Harry drags it away from her. Then she returns her attention to Louis’ bum.

It’s only when the stinging starts to change that Louis stops snarling and starts to panic. The hot pain she’d felt at first shifts, and Louis feels herself rocking backwards – her hips almost desperate to meet Harry’s hand.

She is definitely not in control anymore.

She renews her struggle, kicking her legs out madly and grinning when she catches what feels like Harry’s leg. It certainly stops Harry for a second – during which Louis almost fights her way away.

Harry’s hand clenches in her hair and yanks her back into place.

“I reckon you’re starting to like it a little too much,” Harry says, pulling her hair until Louis’ head tilts back. “Yeah?” she says. “You like getting spanked, you little _slut_?”

And that’s just unacceptable.

Louis pushes herself up off the couch, her legs a little shaky from the assault on her arse – but Harry’s grip is still strong in her hair. The only thing Louis’ move really allows, is for Harry to slot into place on the couch. She lies back down, settling beneath Louis, and spreading her legs wide.

She’s drenched, practically dripping wet.

“You’re going to lick me out,” Harry orders, tugging Louis’ face down. “And once you’re done, you’ll be begging me to spank you some more.”

“Like fucking hell—!” Louis sneers. She grabs at Harry’s hand, and squeezes right on her pulse point. She doesn’t have nails to dig in – but the pressure is evidently enough, and Harry releases her. But Louis doesn’t quite manage to cleanly pull away. Harry rears back from the pain and the move is so violent that it knocks Louis off balance. For the second time that morning, both girls tumble from the couch – only this time from a much more painful angle. 

Harry’s back takes the brunt of the impact, but she recovers quickly. Louis feet are still scrambling for purchase when Harry knocks her again, flipping them both over and pinning Louis to the ground. It takes her less than a second to crawl up, over Louis’ body.

“Like this then?” she sneers down at Louis. Then she settles herself cleanly, her shins pinning Louis’ arms out of the way as she shoves her cunt into Louis’ face.

Somewhere, in the back corner of Louis’ mind, she thinks vaguely of the Harry she’d met that first night, who had fucked her silly on a pool table and then blinked, so confused, when Louis had told her to ride her face.

“Fucking eat it,” Harry hisses, grinding down against Louis’ chin.

And, well, it’s not like Louis’ stops struggling or anything. She’s still moving her hips madly, wriggling her shoulders and fighting quite desperately to free herself – but, Harry’s is right there, warm and wet and why would she deny herself that?

She licks a hot stripe upwards, scraping her teeth across Harry’s clit before moving back down and pressing her tongue inside. She smells rich, her scent heavy and hot and hers. Louis’s fingers dig into Harry’s thigh, suddenly desperate to flip them over and devour her – reduce Harry to the begging, whimpering mess that Louis’ loves so much.

But Harry doesn’t give an inch. “Fuck,” she groans from high above Louis. She’s rocking her hips almost desperately, and lets out a little noise, the soft weak whimper that Harry can never hold in when she’s on the edge. “Just like that, you fucking _slut_.”

She comes like that, fists clenched in Louis’ hair, fucking herself on Louis’ tongue.

Louis’ thighs clench together instinctively. The heat that swells in her belly feels overwhelming for a second, inescapable – and for a second Louis is swept away by it. It would be good, she thinks before she can stop herself, to make Harry feel like this all the time — to submit to the heat, to the ache in between her legs — to Harry.

Her instincts are not quiet in their protest. _Fuck_ that _shit_ , her mind screeches. Her eyes snap open, and she is distracted only for a second by the fucking stunning angle she has to see Harry writhing about on top of her. Louis wants to fucking tear her apart.

She bucks her hips with a renewed vigour, sinking her teeth into the flesh of Harry’s thigh at the same second. It takes Harry by surprise, and she lets out a shout as Louis’ presses the advantage and rolls them over. Harry’s thigh hits the side of Louis’ head as they move, her heel smashing into the centre of Louis’ back – but Louis barely notices.

“Call me that again, Styles, I swear to _fucking_ Christ—!”

To say that she roars when she shoves Harry to the ground would only be half true. It’s less of a shove and more a tackle anyway. 

**.**

How they end up in the bedroom, Louis has no fucking idea.

But she’s glad that they have. Like, her knees are pretty fucking grateful.

She’s got Harry pinned to the mattress, but she’s sure it’s not going to last. Her flailing legs have rid the bed of any blankets it had before, shoving them out of the way and to the floor. The pillows are gone as well – leaning awkwardly against the bed frame from toppling over at a weird angle. Harry’s sprawled out against the sheer white sheets, her hair spread all over the place. She keeps pausing in between barking orders at Louis, to spit the stray strands of her hair from her mouth. It’s kind of fucking hilarious.

Her legs are spread just as wildly, and she’s shoving her hips up – rubbing where Louis’ thigh is pressing so intimately. “Just, just – fucking move,” she commands.

Louis grins down at her and stills her hips.

Harry lets out an enraged noise.

“I was thinking we could play for a bit,” Louis hums. She carefully rides out the furious buck of Harry’s hips before heavily settling again. “You and I are so good at playing.”

She’s got only one of Harry’s thighs trapped underneath her. The rest of her is free to flail as much as she’d like – and she’d clearly like. Her free leg is hooked over Louis’, her heel digging into the small of Louis’ back in an effort to get her to move.

“I don’t want to fucking play,” Harry scowls. She rears upwards, grabbing the back of Louis’ neck to pull her torso up until she’s breathing Louis’ air. It squishes their breasts together – and Louis has time to mewl at the pleasant surprise before Harry’s smashing their lips together.

She bites at Louis’ lip furiously, her hands coming down to pull at Louis’ lips and press her exactly where they need – then swallows Louis’ hot moan.

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” Harry hisses. Her fingers dig into the meaty flesh of Louis’ thigh, her other arm snaking around Louis’ waist. She pulls them even closer together and the resulting friction makes both of them groan. “ _That’s it,_ ” she says, “ _take_ it.”

Louis scowls and pushes Harry away. “ _You_ take it,” she snarls.

Harry slips her hand into the tiny space now between them and twists at Louis’ nipple. She shooting pain is completely overshadowed by the spike of pleasure that swirls through Louis’ body and she moves almost instinctively – like she can’t tell whether she wants to press into it, or pull away.

Then Louis’ bum bone slips and Louis couldn’t give a _flyers fuck_ about her boob because it’s suddenly not Harry’s _thigh_ that she’s pressed so sweetly against.

“ _Oh_ ,” Louis says.

Harry’s cunt is hot and wet and very _, very_ good against Louis’. Perfect, even. Amazing. Stunning, blissful, _euphoric_.

“ _Oohhhhhh_ ,” Louis says again.

“Fuck,” Harry says, her voice a little shaky. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,”

“ _Yeeeeeeeah_ ,” Louis says. “Oh, oohhhh, oh _shit –_ don’t stop.”

Harry lets out a derisive laugh, a sharp sound that Louis’ doesn’t hear very often. It’s very hot. “Why the fuck would I stop?”

Louis still has it in her to roll her eyes. “Shut up.”

“You shut up,” Harry sneers.

Louis doesn’t stop the rocking of her hips, but she does pull back from the very distinctive mark she’d been making at Harry’s neck to scowl. “We are not having this conversation right now.”

Harry lets out a frustrated sigh and pulls Louis back to her, pressing her mouth hotly to the corner of Louis’ jaw. “Please, please just – stop talking and keep going.”

“Are you begging?” Louis asks delightedly.

Harry scowls. “No, fuck off.”

“Sounded to me like you were begging.”

“Sounded to me like fuck off.”

“Good one.”

Harry’s hands palm Louis’ arse as they hump, her fingers toying with the crevice there – but not quite following through. There’s a threat there, though. A vicious promise. “If anyone’s going to beg here’s it’ll be you.”

“How do you figure?” Louis pants, as her body tries to figure out whether to thrust forward against Harry’s cunt, or press back against her finger.

Harry sucks a hot kiss at Louis’ pulse point. “Because you’re mine, sweet cheeks,” she sneers into her skin.

“Yours?”

Harry chooses that moment to once again palm Louis’ – ahem, _sweet cheeks._

“ _Mine_.”

But Louis can control herself. She has some self-control. And she’s not going to let Harry get away with violating the delicate balance they’d set out. Cooperation had been working, _damnit._

“I think it’s the other way around, gorgeous,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s breast roughly. Harry makes a weak noise, her hips bucking instinctively. Louis grins. “Look at you mewling for me. I think you belong to me.”

“In your fucking dreams,” Harry pants.

“ _Mmhmm,_ ” Louis says. “I do dream about it, baby. About your cute little arse and your sweet tits – and your wet fucking lips as they beg for my attention.”

“I _told you_ I didn’t fucking beg,” Harry hisses.

Louis smiles wickedly at her, before shifting her leg a little so that they line up even better. “Who’re you trying to convince, babe?”

Harry seems a little preoccupied with their new angle, but not so much that she doesn’t rise to Louis’ challenge. “Shut the _fuck_ up.”

“Say you’re mine and I will,” Louis says.

“ _You_ say _you’re_ mine.”

It continues like this for a while – in the desperate breaths they have to spare between pressing their bodies together. They bicker and they grind, bruising and clawing at each other as they get closer and closer to the edge.

It devolves, from there, until they’re panting hotly in each other’s mouths.

“M’yours,” Louis swears, and not a single part of her regrets it.

“Yours, all yours,” Harry breathes back.

They crest the high together, pressing the words (‘ _yours’_ and ‘ _ours’_ and ‘ _mate’_ ) into each other’s sweaty skin and filling the sex-stale air with it. Louis feels torn open – ripped at the seams and exposed to her very core – but to be perfectly honest, it’s the best she’s felt in months.

**.**

**t-plus twenty four hours**

**.**

Louis wakes up sore.

She’s bruised within an inch of her life, her skin peppered in dark brown marks that match Harry’s fingerprints perfectly. There’s a vaguely metallic taste in her mouth and her lip is tender, tugged and bitten a few too many times to recover fully. Her muscles are screaming at her, protesting their rough treatment and her boobs ache (partly from the devoted attention of Harry’s teeth, and partly from all the running and jumping without a bra.)

Harry appears to feel the same way, only she’s always been a little more motivated to cuddle. Wincing with each move, she delicately rolls over so she can drape one of her magnificent legs over Louis’ hip, and an arm across her stomach. Louis winces as she settles.

“So,” Louis says slowly.

Harry presses a soft kiss against one of what feels like _many_ love bites on Louis’ neck and lets out a soft ‘ _mmmmmmh._ ’

Louis loves her very much.

“That was, uh - ” she says – but she doesn’t quite have the words. Apparently, she doesn’t need them.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs dreamily.

And that’s that.

**.**

**t-plus a few minutes after that**

**.**

“So I guess you like dirty talk, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

**.**

**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: i watched so much lesbian porn to make this happen 
> 
> come say [hello](http://www.bottomlinsons.tumblr.com)


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